


Other Grandfather Tales

by AbbyDebeaupre



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Fluff ridiculous ridiculous fluff! - Freeform, Gen, Hysterical Ian, Moopah to the rescue, Murtagh explains all, Oggy wonders why he doesn't have a real name, Other Grandfather Tales, clumsy Jamie, let alone middle names, oot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyDebeaupre/pseuds/AbbyDebeaupre
Summary: Other Grandfather Tales –OOT explores the fairy tales and Scottish stories for children Jamie Fraser may have used for Grandfather Tales.Author’s Note: This one is loosely based on the fairy tale Tikki Tikki Tembo.





	Other Grandfather Tales

 

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##  **Other Grandfather Tales**

**by[@abbydebeaupreposts](https://tmblr.co/mEo7fXPaut9Wvi5da6W45_w)**

“Da, Da, Da!” Ian Murray glanced down to see his son tugging on his sleeve. It was getting toward nightfall, but the children had been indefatigable. Not even sitting them all down for dinner had quieted them. Still, it was a special kind of joy to see Og with his cousins. As if that thought had conjured her up, he caught a flash of Bree’s red hair mid-swing as she was tagged by Jem. “Yer it!” he shouted with glee and escaped the long reach of her arm. It was so good to have them back on the Ridge. His eyes swept across the campfire taking in the sight of his mother and his uncle leaning against each other in companionable silence, like him, both content to watch all the children running and playing in the meadow just beyond.

His auntie Claire was helping Rachel put things away for the evening and Roger still wasn’t back from the springhouse with the jugs of ale.

He felt another sharp tug and stared into the sun kissed face of his son, “What is it, a bhalaich?” 

“What’s thee names?”

“What? My names?” Ian wondered what he meant. Og still had a tendency to mix his prepositions. 

“No Da, thee,” he said pointing to his own chest, “All them.” Og bounced up and down on his heels and made a wide sweeping gesture to encompass just about everybody in his field of view.

“He wants to know his middle names,” this explanation coming from Mandy who had intercepted her father and was now carrying a jug that looked heavy in her arms. Ian quickly plucked it from her, pouring himself a generous glass. When he didn’t immediately respond, Mandy went on, “I’m Amanda Claire Hope MacKenzie and Jemmy is Jeremiah Alexander Ian Fraser MacKenzie, Da is Roger Jeremiah Wakefield MacKenzie and Mam is Brianna Ellen Randall Fraser MacKenzie and Grandda is—.”

“Ah, like the way I am Ian James Fitzgibbons Fraser Murray,” Ian noted. 

“And Okwaho'kenha,” Rachel said using his Mohawk name. She scooped Og up and held Ian’s gaze. He could read her like a book, and knew he was going to be fielding this one. 

“Well Og, the plain truth of it is, yer name is just plain Og Murray. We thought we’d pick out a  name for you in the Mohawk fashion when you got a bit older.” The real story was only slightly more complicated than that, but he could tell from the look on his son’s face neither of these explanations were going to satisfy him. What else could he say? It simply did not match with his mother’s Quaker upbringing nor his Mohawk traditions to give children ostentatiousness names at birth.  

Og, unfortunately, had been going through a why, why, why stage – morning, noon and night – of late. Now, he could tell his son was gearing up for a lengthy discourse on the subject and had no way to head him off at the pass. 

Salvation came in the form of a gravelly voice from across the fire pit, “You should tell him the real story.” Upon hearing his grandfather’s voice, Og squirmed until Rachel put him back down and he raced across the edge of the fire to strong arms that helped him climb onto his lap, Og pulling himself up by latching onto the man’s thick, white beard.

“Story? Thee tell, Moopa!” Og demanded. 

“Thee wants to hear it, then?” Murtagh gently teased, for prepositions were hard enough for a bairn to figure out, let alone one with a Quaker mother.

It had been Og who’d christened him Moopa and, of course, the name had stuck with all the rest of the bairns as well. He was pleased to have his own special family name. Murtagh accepted a glass of ale from Claire, who had returned and settled down beside him for what promised to be a good tale, if the smiles on Jamie and Jenny’s faces were any indication.

“This is a story about your other grandfathers,” he began and slowly all the other children came to settle around and listen as well, “Yer Grandda Jamie and your Grandpa Ian, ye ken the one in Scotland?” Murtagh look down at Og. 

“Oh, Lallybroch,” he breathed. Og had been told enough stories for the Highlands to occupy a place of almost mystical wonder in his imagination.

“Aye, just so, my lad. Wayback when your grandfathers were around Jem’s age, they had been given charge of the stables, the watering and feeding of the horses.” 

At this Og uttered the Cherokee word for horses and, hearing it, Ian shared a private smile with Rachel. “Well, it was getting to harvest season and yer great grandfather, the one they called Black Brian,” this time it was Jem’s turn to exclaim, “Dubh!” Ian watched as Jamie shot his grandson a look of startled appreciation, it had been a long time since he’d heard anyone call his father by that name. 

“Aye, that’s what they called him,” Jenny agreed. 

“Believe it or no, Granny Jenny’s hair used to be black as night, just like our father’s,” Jamie said, patting his sister’s knee.  

“Ye may be younger than me, my lad, but do ye ken ye have almost as much silver on yer heid as me?” Her eyes danced. 

“The boys, puffed wi’ self-importance at being given such responsibility, began well enough, mucking the stables and getting the hay. But they soon tired of lugging heavy buckets of water between the well and the stables. Yer Grandda got it into his head to have some fun with poor Grandpa Ian and next thing he knew, a bucket had been dumped right o’er his head. That made your Grandpa so angry that he turned quick as lightning and went after Jamie.”

“Aye, charged me just like that daft bull up in the north pasture,” Jamie confirmed.

“It’s hard to picture Ian going on the attack,” Bree laughed, remembering her gentle uncle as more of a peacemaker than a fighter. 

“No… not after the leg, that’s true enough,” Murtagh agreed.

“In his prime, though,” Jenny said, “He was a canty wee fighter. But he got the best of Jamie wi’out landing a single blow.”

“What happened?” Germain demanded. At that, Murtagh snorted and gave all the children a look full of mirth. 

“Jamie was so surprised, he backed all the way up to the edge of the well and the next thing he knew, he went arse over teakettle, straight into the well!” At this the children let out delighted shrieks of laughter, and the adults all smiled at the abashed look on Jamie’s face. “Well, now, luckily he didna hit his head on his way down; but he was trapped, and good. Stuck there at the bottom of the well. He couldna climb out, for the stone was slippery and Ian wasna strong enough to lift him all by himself using the rope. Try as they might, he and Ian couldna figure out how to get him out of there.”

“Aye, the worst part was the chores werena done. I thought if Da came back and saw me trapped, he’d likely throw Ian in after me. So, I told Ian to run quick as he may and get help.” Jamie told them. 

“I was out back, plucking a chicken,” Jenny added, “Feathers all over my hair. I was sweet on him, even then, and thought I must look a fright but even so I kent he looked worse. All red in the face, wheezing and a look of terror about him. Lord, I thought something terrible had happened to Jamie.” 

“Something terrible did happen to Jamie…” Jamie put in and Claire laughed. 

“I meant,” Jenny said with the exaggerated patience of someone who has had this argument many times before, “Something really terrible, and the longer it took him to spit it out the more worried I became.” 

“What did Ian finally say?” Claire asked. 

“He said,” Murtagh cut in, rolling his eyes at Jamie and Jenny for interrupting his flow, “‘James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser has fallen into the well!’ That’s why it took him so long to get it out. Ye ken there were several Jamie Frasers living around those parts back then and so he needed to tell the whole name. And yer Granny Jenny said, ‘Oh my lord, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser has fallen into the well! Ye must go find Murtagh!’ And so poor Ian didna even have time to catch his breath and he had to set off again, all over Lallybroch desperate to get my help before Jamie’s Da came back. And at every croft he has to say the same thing, ‘James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser has fallen into the well, is Murtagh here?’ It took forever for him to get that great long name out over and over again. By the time word reached me, it was too late. Brian had returned. Between the three of us, we managed to get Jamie out of the well. By that time the poor lad was an ice cube. I’m surprised wee pieces of his backside didna crack off with each lash his Da laid down. I dinna think either lad sat down for two days after.”

“God, ‘twas true, there I was shiverin’ and shaking so hard I swear I could hear my balls rattling in-” Jamie abruptly closed his mouth, turning red as he suddenly remembered the women and children. Murtagh gave him a look and he saw more than one of the boys absently touching their own laps in sympathy. 

“The next day, I overheard Jamie and Ian talking, and Jamie says, ‘God man, what took you so long?’ And Ian, still smarting from the strapping he got from Brian and then the ten extra his own Da added, turned around, all red in the face and steaming and he said ‘I’d like to see ye do better! Running around the countryside yelling out a name like James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. If I had been the one who fell, it wouldna have taken ye all of two seconds to say Ian Murray and I’ll tell ye now, if I never ever have to say that long name again it will be too soon!’” 

“Oh Christ, poor Ian,” Jamie said wiping tears of laughter, “I’d forgotten that part.” Jamie nudged his sister’s leg. “Come to think of it, I dinna think he ever did say my full name out loud again. When I became a mercenary in France, he shortened my name altogether, introduced me as Jamie MacTavish.”

“And so, wee Og Murray, not long before yer parents got marrit, Ian went back to see Grandpa in Scotland and yer Grandpa told yer Da that story. Then, made his son promise that he’d take better care and no’ burden his grandson with a muckle-sized name. The shorter the better, that’s the moral of that tale!”


End file.
